


Prettier Shells

by Nny



Series: Sandcastles [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Awkwardness, First Kiss, Honesty, M/M, explains where Dog's been, feels everywhere, my head-canon precisely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:18:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/pseuds/Nny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>So far Wensleydale had managed to hold hands with Brian three times precisely (horribly self-conscious about the dampness of his palms throughout each), and their lips had yet to touch at all.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prettier Shells

There were things it was difficult to get around to when there were four of you to a Morris Traveller, a hotel room, a technically two-man tent. So far Wensleydale had managed to hold hands with Brian three times precisely (horribly self-conscious about the dampness of his palms throughout each), and their lips had yet to touch at all. It wasn't as though Adam and Pepper would _mind_ , exactly, that wasn't it. It was far worse than that, actually. They were likely to be horribly fascinated, encouraging, make it awkward and embarrassing in ways Wensley wasn't sure he'd make it out of alive. So instead it was a warm, pink-hazed, middle-school sort of an affair, with sly sideways glances and embarrassed bitten lips, the outsides of little fingers just touching on the back seat between them. 

Wensleydale wasn't sure he'd ever been so frustrated in his _life_.

To make it worse, there were the times when things went all of a sudden to the other extreme. When Brian suddenly forgot to be embarrassed and sprawled all over Wensley, draped over him from behind and breathing hot against his shoulder, or pressing their knees together under the table in whatever fast-food restaurant they happened to be. The worst time, the absolute pinnacle of humiliating awfulness had been the time Brian had pushed and tugged and squashed him into place against the door in the back seat of the Traveller and then leaned back against his chest, the whole length of him folded up between Wensley's legs. He hadn't stayed still, either, picking restlessly at the hole that was forming in the knee of Wensley's jeans (just the barest scraping touches of skin against skin), contantly turning his head to talk to Pepper, in the front, so his hair was always just teasing at Wensleydale's neck. And it had been a long time for Wensleydale, and it - it was _Brian_ , he couldn't _help_ it, the evidence of how much he was affected horribly obvious against the base of Brian's back. So when they'd stopped for petrol he'd squirmed backwards, humiliated, as soon as the others had jumped out of the car, only for Brian to wrap warm fingers around his thigh. 

"Don't," he'd said, barely audible. "I like it." 

The next motorway services they'd come to he'd raced to the nearest bathroom, face flaming, and locked himself into a stall. The toothmarks in his finger hadn't faded for _hours_. 

Paycheques were scarce in their business - whatever you might call it - and the majority of them just now went to pay for boarding for Dog; he'd been bitten by a possible were-rabbit, and had had to be quarantined until after the full moon. The rest went on food and petrol and supplies, with the occasional night in a hotel when they were feeling particularly flush. So it was an indulgence they probably couldn't afford, getting two seperate rooms, but a scratch-card win from Pepper and the tiny smirk on Adam's face had left Wensleydale feeling reckless and heated and dizzy as a wossname. Proverbial. 

He locked the door behind him. The sorts of places they could afford to stay generally had two locks at least, sometimes a chain, and paper-thin walls; it was always best to ignore any noises in the night. Brian flicked on the tiny lamp on the night-stand by the bed, the room slowly coming into focus as the energy-saving lightbulb struggled into luminescence, and Wensleydale pulled his t-shirt off before he could think twice about it. He turned around and Brian was studying him curiously, the length of him sprawled out untidily on the mattress but his shoulders resting against the headboard, which was padded in an unfortunate shade of brown. 

"Oh," he said softly. "Really?"

It wasn't the most encouraging of starts. Wensleydale shrugged, walking over to stand beside the bed and feeling the slow tide of blotchy pink self-consciousness starting to slide up the skin of his stomach. 

"I thought - since we're alone - "

"Yeah," said Brian, "no, of course. I just meant, what d'you want to - " he sat up a little more and didn't meet Wensleydale's eyes, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I mean, what've you done?" 

A tidal wave of bright red embarrassment crashed into Wensleydale's face and then withdrew, leaving the pit of his stomach empty and hollow and with plenty of room for humiliated anger to take its place. He folded his arms tightly across his chest and then shifted them, lower across his stomach, where they might have a chance of hiding how the stubborn remnants of puppy-fat squashed a little over the top of his jeans. 

"Loads," he said, too loud. "Plenty. Just because I don't look like - " he waved a quick frustrated gesture to indicate Brian's stupid long limbs, his mouth that always held the potential for the best smile Wensleydale had ever seen, the carelessly tousled brown hair that Brian was currently staring out at him from under. "Lots of people have wanted to," he said, stubborn and awful and feeling a little bit sick. 

He wasn't expecting the heart-stopping grin. 

"Oh thank god," said Brian. "That's a relief." 

Wensleydale sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed. 

"...what?" 

Brian scrambled over to sit next to him, a long line of heat pressed against Wensleydale's side, and took a moment to carefully weave their fingers together. 

"I haven't," he said, and his smile was practically unbearable this close. "Never really particularly wanted to." 

"Oh," said Wensleydale blankly. "Right. You don't want - "

There was a quick movement and Brian bit him gently, precisely, on the small patch of skin just under his ear. The noise Wensleydale made was completely involuntary.

"Didn't," said Brian, firmly. "I've always wanted to do things with you." 

"Ah," said Wensleydale. He flexed his fingers slightly againt Brian's, and there was something weird and reassuring and a little bit amazing about how damp Brian's palm was, against his. He cleared his throat. "Like what?" 

"I want to stick my little finger in your tummy button," Brian said promptly, and echoed it immediately when Wensleydale snorted out a startled laugh. "I do! And I want to see if the backs of your knees are as ticklish as mine."

"Romantic," Wensleydale said, his voice still all tangled up with laughter. 

Brian leaned a little closer and buried his nose just behind Wenselydale's ear. 

"I want to steal your shampoo," he said, softly, his lips stirring the curls there. "I want to make you laugh forever. And I want to know what the back of your neck tastes like in the morning when it's almost too hot for covers." 

"Oh," Wensleydale breathed out, barely audible. 

"Mostly, though," Brian said thoughtfully, "for starters, I'd like to put my tongue in your mouth." 

"Right," Wensleydale said, and shuffled himself round on the bed, practically going cross-eyed with how close Brian was but able to see he matched him, enormous grin for grin. "Right, well, I suppose that's a good place to start."


End file.
